


When You Are Weak, I'll Be Strong

by ThatAnnoyingBella



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Being Walked In On, Cuddling, Dialogue Heavy, Drabbles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Interrupted Sex, Introspection, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, OT3, Panic Attacks, Pillow Talk, Resolved Argument Prompt Exchange, Romantic Fluff, Self indulgent pandering, So Much Romance, Song Lyrics, Texting, should not be allowed to laugh at your own work, so much goddamn fluff, trash, why am i allowed to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-01-09 07:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 8,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12271458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatAnnoyingBella/pseuds/ThatAnnoyingBella
Summary: Completely independent fluff collection, non-canon to existing AUs. Everything will be short, sweet, and total trash. Most of these are 250 - 550 words long.





	1. "Bitch"

Smith lifted one large hand in a silent gesture for ‘another shot, please,’ and dipped his head with a small smile of gratitude when the request was quickly obliged. His hair glinted gold under the harsh yellow lights above the bar, and Ross watched carefully as Smith’s head tipped back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he took the shot.

“Smith, you’ve already had five. You’re going to be pissed,” Ross warned. His heart sank slightly when Smith laughed off the concern.

“Just because you’re a light weight,” Smith started, throwing an arm around Ross’ shoulders and leaning in close, “Doesn’t mean I am.” Smith’s eyes dropped, and Ross inhaled sharply when teeth caught on his bottom lip roughly, tugging a little before letting go.

“Bitch,” Smith laughed at Ross’ insult, leaning away again. Ross punched Smith in the shoulder affectionately. “I’m just going to take a piss, I’ll be back.” 

With that, Ross headed for the loo.


	2. "I love you, you know."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLUFFFFFF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much fluff. KIII M3  
> I based this heavily on my experience of my little country town show, btw :)

Ross whooped loudly, ignorant to the affectionate grin Smith gave in response. He laughed as he was forced heavily against Smith, the ride spinning rapidly. They’d learned from their first go on the ride that the person on the outside ended up with all of the weight of the other on top of them, and Ross, after much complaining, had convinced Smith to good naturedly take his place.

There was something about the feeling of weightless, powerless spinning that made Ross come undone. His voice cracked as he giggled maniacally, and Smith spat out the mouthful of Ross’ shirt that he’d ended up with, and felt his heart swell. He hadn’t seen Ross so happy in months, since Smith had surprised him with a beautiful, romantic, and, most importantly, delicious home cooked buffet. 

Their hands, Ross’ clammy and Smith’s almost as bad in the humid air, remained tightly together as they exited the ride, as they ordered ice creams (I’ll have a plain choc and one of the castle shaped ones with the bubblegum, choc and macadamia nuts, please.” “You remembered?” “How could I forget?”), and as they sat outside the clubhouse, smiles plastered to their faces. 

Smith watched Ross, pale eyes observing everything, pink lips spouting some utter bullshit that Smith found himself listening to, just because of the way Ross said it, as if figuring out how many cats a particular, “most certainly single” woman must have at home was akin to figuring out the meaning of life. Ross told a joke, a small smile on his face, and then grinned when Smith laughed. Breath taken, Smith admired the way his boyfriend lit up like a Christmas tree.

“I love you, you know.”

Ross looked at Smith in confusion, still smiling. “What?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” said Ross, his facial expression softening. He nudged Smith with his shoulder, gave him a look that said more than any words could, and stood, leading his similarly tall friend towards the next ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snags  
> Pls give me advice, fren


	3. “But Ross, I didn’t forget.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE FREAKING ANNIVERSARY FLUFF OMG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to die. This is so freaking cute. What am I doing, feeling like I'm about to explode about how cute my own work is?

Carefully, painstakingly, Ross moved the fork into line with his ring finger. His hand shook, and he swore. He straightened, taking a deep breath. He looked around the room, at the candles, the smell of roast beef, corned to Smith’s liking, hanging so thickly that Ross was surprised that it didn’t create a visible fog.

The table, set for two, the glass of cotton twigs, the fancy two pronged forks and the “naked” knives. The ones without a plastic end, since Smith hated those, hated how the handle would hold water and drip it onto his lap as ate. Coasters with puns on them (Smith’s favourite, glass of perfectly mixed Coke and whiskey perched on top, had a picture of an angry cake, and the words, “Do you wanna piece of me?”), placed in just the right position for a lazy swig of a right hand.

Soft music played in the living room, keeping random pop lyrics floating through Ross’ head as he rushed towards the door, hearing Smith’s keys jangling in the lock. He twisted the handle and swung the door wide, full of a strange, nervous energy.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, Smith repeated, one ginger eyebrow raised, “What’s up?” He walked into the room, and Ross shut the door behind him, watching, wringing his hands as Smith hung up his coat.

“Uh, I made us dinner.”

Smith paused, looking over his shoulder at Ross. Ross often made dinner for the two of them. “How much is it going to cost me?” He asked, smiling, encouraging. Ross felt a strong affection for Smith, who knew just how to make Ross feel comfortable, knew not to ask, to act normal.

“Nothing, as long as you behave,” he teased, loosening up a little and leading Smith by his shoulders towards the kitchen. Smith spun out of his grip, instead taking his right hand gently. Ross mocked a glare, as Smith faced him.

“What’s the occasion?” Smith asked, leaning down to give Ross a chaste kiss.

“We’ve been together for four years today,” Ross said, interrupting the comment he knew Smith was about to make. “It’s okay, I know you forgot, Smith. I don’t care. You know I don’t care.” Smith often forgot these things, he knew. He walked into the kitchen, Smith following.

“Ross…”

Ross looked at Smith, tense, waiting, and took in his open mouth and wide eyes. He glanced at the heavy dinner and the specially chosen cutlery, and the red napkins he’d looked everywhere for, the candles, the details. The hard work and care.

“This is so nice,” he started, then he squeezed Ross’ hand, still in his own, “But Ross, I didn’t forget.” Ross frowned up at Smith, taken aback by the change of topic. 

“What?”

And Smith pulled a small box from his pocket, and fell to one knee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think, it always means so much to me. :)


	4. "Of Course"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith is waiting for Trott outside of a fish and chip shop, and Trott is in a great mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny little fic using a prompt I found on Tumblr. A couple more will be coming. You can visit the Tumblr page I got this first prompt from here: http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/167557304820/imagine-person-a-of-your-otp-noticing-person-b

Smith hunches his shoulders in the cold and covers his mouth in a yawn. Snow lightly dusts the ground, and the street light above his head flickers orange. He turns to peer in through the shop window and watches Trott give the man at the counter a hearty chuckle as he takes the handle of the take-away bag. Smith smiles, dry lips pulling, as Trott spots him and flips a subtle middle finger under the counter.

Trott hands over some money, then flounces out of the shop and grins brightly at Smith, the beanie on his head and twinkle in his dark eyes making him almost painfully cute. Smith straightens up from where he was leaning on the window and slings one long arm around Trott.

“What took you so long?” Smith asks. Trott hands Smith the bag of food, and Smith takes it in silent gesture, walking towards his apartment.

“It was warm in there!” Trott laughs, looking up at Smith.

“And I’m not?” Smith teases, squeezing Trott's shoulders. “Look at me, I’m dying here.”

“Speaking of…” Trott stops short, and pulls a small stick of lippy from his jeans, applying it liberally to his plump lips. Smith sighs dramatically when Trott smiles happily and continues walking.

“Aren’t you going to give me any? My lips are cracked as fuck.”

Trott turns, and his lips catch the glow of the street light outside the fish and chip shop. He reaches out and grabs Smith hand, then pulls him close. “Of course,” he says, pulling Smith down for a sticky kiss. Smith cringes, and they both laugh, well ready for a warm night and warm food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF


	5. "Really?!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross has changed the wifi password... Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one made me laugh. 5 minute fic, inspired by this prompt: http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/167569658231/imagine-your-otps-wifi-password-for-their-house

Smith jumps, swearing loudly when the lights in the house all suddenly go out. It’s pitch black in his room, the PC screen in front of him no longer illuminated, and there’s a loud bang and a muffled “Fuck!” from upstairs. Smith runs a hand through his ginger hair, and feels around on the desk for his phone. Just as his fingers brush the smooth plastic cover, the lights flicker back to life. Smith squints in the harsh light.

Knowing that it was probably against the unwritten rules of blackouts, Smiths grits his teeth in frustration and turns the computer back on again. He taps his fingers as it slowly boots up, slams a finger down on the spacebar when asked to login, and holds in harsh words when he realises that all of his Google Chrome tabs are gone. 

Smith stands and walks to the corner of the room, pressing the “reboot” button on the wifi box and waiting impatiently for it to be finished. After angrily inputting the wifi password into his computer three times and repeatedly receiving the “incorrect password” pop-up, Smith decides that Ross must have changed it.

“Ross?! What’s the wifi password?!” He calls. Ross must hear the annoyance in his voice, because he hesitates before yelling back from the living room.

“What?” Ross knew exactly what Smith said, he’s sure of it.

“What’s the password for the fucking wifi?!”

“Uh,” starts Ross, nervous, “I’ll come and type it in for you, hang on.”

“Ross! For fuck’s sake, just tell me!” Smith yells. Ross walks sheepishly into the room, and raises his hands.

“Look-”

“Ross, I swear to God, I just lost hours of work, give me the fucking password.” Smith is seething. He knows he’s being unfair, but his blood is boiling with suppressed fury. He hasn’t gotten angry in weeks.

“Uh, okay, all right, um-” Ross walks over, and flushes. “It’s Ross and Smith forever, but forever is the number four, e-v-a, and the s’s are 5’s.”

Smith stares in silence, and says, incredulously, “Are you telling me that the wifi password has, in the last two weeks, been changed to,” Smith pulls up StickyNotes, typing along with his words, “Ro55and5mith4eva?”

“And the ‘I’ in Smith is the number one.”

“Really?!”

“Well,” Ross says, biting his lip and looking away in embarrassment, “I thought it was funny at the time.”

“Are you kidding me?” Smith says loudly, causing Ross to cringe. “That’s fucking amazing! Holy shit. Come here.” Ross looks at Smith in surprise, and smiles a little, stepping closer to the desk. Smith grabs his wrist and pulls him in for a gentle kiss, and laughs loudly.

“Fuck, you’ve just made my day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought!


	6. "Trott!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith and Ross are trying to get it on, but someone isn't having it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got this prompt ages ago, can't remember from where, sos.

Smith groans as Ross kisses down his throat, nibbling and sucking as he goes. Their legs are tangled together and it’s way too hot to be under the covers, so they’re naked on top of them like, as Trott would say, “Savages.” Smith pulls Ross’ head back up and kisses him roughly, nearly cutting himself on his own teeth in his ferocity. Their lips move fervently, and Ross gasps when Smith grinds against his thigh.

Suddenly, the house is filled with the sound of a vacuum cleaner, and Smith groans in annoyance as the mood melts away rapidly. The vacuum cleaner clicks against the walls and the door and hums loudly, and Smith swears, moving to stand. Ross catches his arm, and kisses him in distraction, but he pulls away.

“TROTT!” Smith yells. The vacuum cleaner goes silent, and the door opens a crack.

“Yea- Oh.” Trott pauses, then starts laughing. “Oh my fucking God!”

“Trott! This isn’t funny!” Smith shouts, sitting up. He throws a pillow at the doorway, which misses, sending Trott into hysterics. 

“Haha! You were fucking! Hahaha!”

“Trott!”

“Trott!” Ross echoes. 

Trott whimpers and wipes his eyes, grinning. “Yeah?” he asks weakly.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Ross asks, “Because I think Smith is going to murder you.”

“Hell yeah I’m gonna fucking murder him!” Smith yells, trying once again to stand while Ross holds on to his arm.

Trott bursts out in laughter again, and walks over, reaching out to condescendingly pet Smith’s hair. “There, there. You can still wank each other off, but I won’t be able to hear you.”

Trott laughs and dodges a well-deserved smack.


	7. "Now smile."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross gets fired from work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so much fun, oh my god. First sort of hurt/comfort of this collection, I think. Enjoy!

Smith poured milk into his mug, frowning at Ross over the breakfast bar. Ross looked dishevelled, his wet hair flat to his head, eyes weary. He’d just returned from work, and he rubbed at his face in frustration.

“He fired me.”

Smith’s heart dropped, and he gasped. “He didn’t!”

Ross sighed, slumping in his chair. “He did.” Smith put down his mug and walked over to Ross, putting a tentative hand on his back. When Ross relaxed into it, Smith started rubbing firm circles.

“That’s awful, Smith said, genuinely. He bit his lip. “Did he say why?”

Ross shook his head dejectedly, his face resting on his arms. Smith tutted, and furrowed his brow in worry. “Well,” Smith started, leaning away to pull over a chair without taking his hand from Ross’ back, “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”

“But I fucked up,” Ross mumbled. Smith sat down, trying to catch his eye.

“How?”

“I left the shit out of the fridge.”

“Ross,” Smith said softly, “You didn’t mean it. Most places give you second chances on shit like that. It’s not your fault. I remember how pissed you were at yourself over it, too. You work hard.”

“But Smith, I needed that job, and I’ve fucked up-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’ll all work out,” Smith said. “Now look at me.” Ross reluctantly looked up, eyes red and sad.

“Now smile,” Smith said. When Ross didn’t respond, he stuck his tongue out, grinning in satisfaction when Ross gave a small, watery smile.

“Good,” he said, kissing Ross on the nose. “You look so beautiful when you smile. Now why don’t we go lay in bed and watch movies while I tell you how clever you are and how much of a dick your boss is.”

Ross looks like he’s about to argue - Smith knows he feels uneasy about compliments - but then he rests his forehead against Smith’s chest and leans in so that Smith can wrap him up in his arms. “Cuddles?” He murmurs.

“Did you even need to ask?”


	8. "I did do that."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith likes hearing about Ross' dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit silly, but I think it's adorable.

“Okay, so I was standing on stage with Taylor Swift,” Ross started, excitement clear in his voice. He was laying under Smith’s arm in bed, and, like he did most mornings, he was giving Smith a play-by-play recount of the dream he had had that night. Ross had dreams almost every night, and, given that Smith rarely dreamt, he had taken to explaining what they were like before he forgot them in the morning. He’d been worried at first that it would annoy Smith, but Smith always encouraged him to recount the events, and he always obeyed.

“And then, out of nowhere, she starts singing One Direction - you know - ‘And everytime we TA-UH-UCH, I get this kind of RU-UH-USH,’ and I mean, obviously I was like ‘Whaaaat?’ and she was all ‘But baby I love you,’ and I looked out into the crowd and you were there,” Ross paused for a breath. Smith squeezed his shoulders and made an interested hum. “Anyway, you gave me a thumbs up, which was super confusing because she was being creepy, and then SHE TOUCHED MY BUM, and I fucking dipped out of that shit. I jumped into the crowd and crowd surfed to you and then we got into the mystery machine from Scooby-Doo and it ended with you sticking your tongue in my ear.”

“I did do that,” Smith confessed. Ross gaped. 

“You did not!” Ross cried as Smith smirked. “I told you not to do that!”

“But it was funny,” Smith defended, grinning. “You should have seen your face scrunch up. Cute.” He leaned in close to Ross, and Ross pulled away, crossing his arms in a sulky manner.

“Fuck you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Ross was silent for a few seconds, then turned back to look Smith closely in the eyes. “Are you sure you don’t mind my rambling?”

Smith smiled. “I love it.”


	9. "I thought you were."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith likes the song "dancing queen"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have been listening to ABBA while writing this. CAN YOU TELL?!  
> This one is also a bit silly and shit, but whatever it makes me smile <3

Ross burst into hysterical laughter, arms clutching his stomach. Smith stood in the doorway, hip popped dramatically and red lipstick covering most of his chin. A pink feathered scarf was wrapped around his neck, and he stood in his ABBA boxers. He wore a pair of thongs he’d bought on an Australian trip a few months back, and had a sticker of a pug stuck to his forehead.

“Come dance with me!” He called seductively, beckoning with a finger. 

“What the fu…” Ross tried, wheezing. “There’s not even any music!”  
Smith raised his eyebrows and pulled out his phone, smirking when a loud piano sweep played. Ross rolled his eyes.

“YOU ARE THE DANCING QUEEN, YOUNG AND SWEET,” Smith sung. He alternated his pitch and coughed a few times for added effect, and walked over to Ross, hips swinging far too wide, pulling him to his feet, prancing like a cart horse. Ross sputtered, laughing, and Smith smiled radiantly back at him.

“Anybody could be that guy! Night is young and the music’s hiiiiiigh!” Smith pulled Ross close and swayed back and forth, belting the song at the top of his lungs, “And when you get the chance, YOU ARE THE DANCING QUEEN!”

Ross and Smith both laughed, and Smith tried to lower Ross in a botched slut drop. Ross’ legs went between Smith’s, but Smith hadn’t expected him to be so heavy, and with how hard they were laughing, it was a lost cause. Ross grabbed at Smith’s shoulders, and Smith was forced to lower him to the floor, giggling.

“I think this might be the gayest thing you’ve ever done,” Ross panted, still grinning happily up at his boyfriend.

“I thought you were.”

“Oh go fucking shower, you penis,” Ross stated, pushing Smith away with a groan and a chuckle.


	10. "You're wet, Smith."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross wakes up in the best way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has a bit of abrupt ending, whoops! That said, it's 500+ words, so a bit longer than usual. This falls more under the super cavity-inducing romantic fluff than the funny stuff. I'm thinking of writing a really long-form, slow-burn friends-to-lovers fic in this style, so thoughts are very welcome! I'm thinking about 50,000 words.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to antineutrinos for, as per usual, being amazing. Love you bb!

Ross woke, his eyes fluttering open heavily. He sucked in a deep breath, rolling back onto his hip and laying a hand on the side of the bed where Smith would usually lay. The white sheets were cold, wrinkled, and Smith was nowhere to be seen. Ross stretched, feeling warm and safe under his doona. The weather was pleasantly cool, enough so that the blankets were welcome even in the morning light.

The shower could be faintly heard turning through the wall, and it surprised Ross to realise that he hadn’t noticed it to begin with. Smith walked into the room, a pleasant and well-rested smile rising on his face when his eyes met Ross’. A fluffy white towel hung loosely around his waist.

“Hey,” Smith smiled, running a hand through his wet hair, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Ross snorted, his voice rough from sleep. “You didn’t wake me. Miracle, really.”

“I’m not that loud!” Smith shouted, just the tiniest hint of irony in his voice. Ross didn’t bother to answer, the energy of talking escaping him. Smith dropped the towel, walking over to the bed and flopping, butt naked, onto the crisp sheets with a dramatic groan. 

“Rossss,” he whined. “Cuddle me.”

Ross pushed his shoulder playfully, pulling his blankets in snugly with leaden arms. “You’re wet, Smith.”

“Ross…”

Ross opened his eyes, which were quickly feeling more and more awake. He met Smith’s eyes with a fond expression, the need for words fading into the moist air around them. They gazed at each other, neither quite serious, but neither quite teasing. They knew each other well enough by now that there wasn’t tension in their silence.

Smith pulled the doona out from where it was tucked under Ross’ side, and shuffled forwards so that he was chest to chest with Ross, who slept in his boxers. He dipped his head lowly, kissing Ross’ sharp collarbones tenderly and running a hand along his hip, thumbing gently at the abrupt bone there. Smith loved Ross’ hips. Ross leaned back to give Smith more skin, and let out a thoughtful hum.

“You just showered, you know.”

Smith just sighed contently against Ross’ chest, giving up on the kisses and settling for watching the hairs on his chest flutter which each breath, his eyelashes tickling Ross’ ribs. Ross carded a hand through Smith’s wet hair, giving a slight grimace, but not slowing when he felt the odd smoothness of using too much conditioner.

“Smith,” Ross said softly. “We need to get up.”

Smith lifted his head, his bright blue eyes meeting Ross’ lighter ones. “Do we?” He whispered, nose almost touching Ross’ chin. He let his gaze simmer for a moment, then tilted Ross’ head down with a hand on his neck. The kiss was soft, the press of lips gentle and loving, but not sexual. Smith’s lips were made plump from the steam in the hot shower, and Ross’ chapped ones and slight stubble scratched his chin.

Ross smiled.


	11. "It's a talent of mine."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's late and Ross is watching docos in bed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually dying help omg what am I doing with my life. As per usual, bit of blunt language, but nothing worth a warning. ;)

Smith whined, his arms stuck in his T-shirt, and laughter choked it’s way out of Ross’ throat at the sight. Smith groaned, falling onto the bed pathetically. His nose hurt, pushed into the sheets, and he was hot all over from struggling with the shirt. Ross gasped for air, pulling Smith up by his upper arm.

“Smith!” Ross chuckled, his hands dragging the shirt away from Smith’s neck and underarms, pulling it over his head. “How the fuck did you manage that, you dumbass?”

Smith blushed, sheepish. “It’s a talent of mine,” he joked. He crawled up to the pillows and tucked his legs under the blankets, settling against Ross’ shoulder as he recovered his phone. Ross had been watching a YouTube video until Smith had needed help undressing, and he pulled it up again now, tilting the screen so that Smith could see.

“What are you watching?” Smith asked, wrinkling his nose when Ross offered him a bright green ‘Haribo!’ bag.

“Murder,” he said, because that was enough for Smith, “This one is about this guy who chucked his kid off a bridge.”

“Charming.”

“Very.” 

For a while, the two lay in comfortable silence. Then, Smith yawned, and Ross turned his phone off abruptly, soon copying. He put his phone on the bedside table and moved down in the bed, turned towards Smith intimately.

“You can keep watching if you want,” Smith offered, but Ross just kissed him, and he tasted like those stupid fucking gummy bears, and all Smith could do is shuffle closer and wrap his arms around his boyfriend.


	12. "u aint winning if u aint spinnin"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memes but they're all out of date because I am trash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is dumb but shut up and enjoy it because I fucking love it

The sheets catch on the hair of Smith’s bare legs, and he rolls over with a groan. It’s the middle of the night, but still it’s stuffy and hot. He’s never been one to sleep without a blanket, so despite the heat, he covers himself up. At times like these, blankets are frustrating, no matter how soft and fluffy they are.

Smith’s phone pings, and he lets out a sigh of relief at the distraction. His back is covered in sweat and flushes icy-cold from the humming fan beside the bed when he turns to reach for his phone. He fumbles to unlock it, flinching at the harsh, light, and frowns when he sees that Ross has messaged him.

Ross: trying to go to sleep but every time you complain about the heat time slows down

He’s too tired to smile, but Smith still exhales sharply when he reads it, already attaching a picture for his reply.

Smith: sad pepe is sad  
*attachment*

Ross must be waiting, because he answers right away.

Ross: pepe? is it 2007 or are you a white supremeist?

Smith: do you need me to come spin with you so you can sleep

Ross: u aint winnin if u aint spinnin

Smith: *attachment*

Ross: …

Ross: Did you just send me the entire script for Shrek?

Smith: Yes.


	13. "shooting so high rn"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott texts Smith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to antineutrinos for being amazing and also sending me this exact message at one point. Still the highlight of my fucking life. Made me laugh so hard. And pop a boner, but that's beside the point.

Trott: You know it’s really hard for me to tell you how I feel sometimes. I mess around and all that but talking about emotions has always seemed like a pipe dream. So I have decided that this is about as intimate as I can be. I know it’s not the same through text and I promise that I will say it out loud but Smith, I can’t say it to your face and I can’t not say it. You know? Once I tell you like this, I’ll be free to tell you whenever. It’s just getting it out there.  
You’re so goddamn handsome and you make me so happy. Every time you smile I feel like I earned it, like it’s this precious thing. You’re like the sun, looking at the fucking sun. So bright and you don’t believe that, I know you don’t, and fuck this is so awkward, but you’re really special. You just have this way of making me better and I can’t thank you enough for everything you do for me. The little things.  
I can stand on my own two feet. I don’t need you. But you improve every part of my life and being able to look after you and be looked after in kind is something I could only dream of before you. I guess what I’m trying to say is this  
I love you, Smith.

Smith: shooting so high rn

Trott: Seriously?

Smith: no

Trott: You fucking wanker

Smith: I love u too

Trott: I spent ages writing that.

Smith: I know. Buying you so many donuts <3

Trott: *doughnuts. Also shut up and go away. <3

Smith: love u babe. pet peevs n all <3


	14. "That's my shovel."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Childhood memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DEDICATED TO ANTINEUTRINOS FOR BEING ABSOLUTELY AMAZING. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BB!  
> Sorry if this is shit, I am actually SO tired. I haven't even read it through again. This is for you, TRINOS!  
> (I want you to know that the first "event" in this story is real. I am Trott. I did this.)

Trott remembers when he and Smith were children. He’d been loud and nosy, and Smith had been bold and careful, and together they got into a lot of trouble. They met at age five, when Trott was sitting in a sandpit at Kindergarten. Smith, a short, chubby ginger, had walked up with his hands on his hips and said:

“That’s my shovel.”

Trott had looked up, knuckles white around a scratched blue handle, and loudly replied, “No, it’s mine,” before hitting Smith over the head with it. Hard. Come to think of it, their first meeting set up the pattern for a lot of their future interactions. The two always did butt heads, and it was their similar aggression that made them mesh so well. While others would take offensive, they would shrug off insults and arguments like it were nothing. As they got older, they outgrew fighting for amusement, but it seemed that every year the two grew wittier.

Not, of course, that the extra wit made much difference to the jokes they told. In fact, the only major impact their wit had on their humour was how convoluted the innuendo was. Sarcasm and crudeness stole the show, and sensitivity and timing rarely seemed important enough to consider. They told jokes through text, Skype, phone call or letter, and it never seemed to make a difference. They were always pushing buttons.

One such event was the fateful day, at around age fifteen, that they decided to prank a certain boy in their English class who’d made the mistake of insulting Smith one too many times. Smith didn’t really mind, but when “faggot” made an appearance, Trott decided that enough was enough. Together they filled every last inch of the kid’s locker with glitter, superglue, and hung dick-shaped lollies from every shelf. 

Within five minutes, they were sitting side by side in the main office, stewing before the Principal decided what to do with them. Trott would regret the prank if it weren’t for the small grin Smith tried to keep off of his lips. They understood each other well enough that words weren’t needed. Trott knew.


	15. "I'd crush my balls!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hat Films calendar making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that calendar making video is up there in the top 10 best videos the Hats have ever made, right alongside "VacTrott," Shipping & Receiving and the video of Trott being a merch-monster in a backyard while the neighbours watch in confusion.  
> Blame Trinos for this edition of "Bella writes random shit and might have a slight problem!"

Smith lowered the pants covering his face at the sound of laughter, choking slightly when he saw Trott walk into the room. The Mrs Claus dress he wore somehow looked even more outrageously inappropriate than a simple pair of underwear would’ve, and Trott fit almost too well into the tiny scrap of fabric. Several “Oh my God’s” echoed around the room, but Smith found himself stunned into silence.

“I need someone to do me up at the back,” said Trott, covering his chest as through he really was hiding a pair of boobs under the costume. Smith snorted, and walked over.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so fucking stupid,” he laughed, turning Trott around with a gentle shove-tug manoeuvre. Trott protested quietly, and Smith pulled the sides of the dress together experimentally.

“Not sure it’ll fit, mate,” he said, tugging harder and trying to hold the sides close so he could zip Trott up.

“Are you calling me fa- Ouch!” Smith rapidly ripped the zip up tightly, and Trott turned, trying to slap Smith in the balls. Smith caught his hands, laughing in a slight panic.

“This is like the bee outfit, Trott version. We need to get you some leggings!”

“Shut up, I’d crush my balls!”

“What,” Smith said, moving backwards to avoid Trott’s blows, “You mean those?” Smith pointed to to Trott’s crotch, flicking his nose when he looked down.

“Right, that’s it, come ‘ere!”

“Mrs Claus is Stiff4Smiff, ahh!” Smith cried, turning and running awkwardly towards the stairs and around the camera equipment and lights, “Ross help!”


	16. "Holy shit!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops. They might have forgotten to lock the door...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will like this one. Hopefully. This is the closest thing to smut I've ever written, I am going to hell. SOMEONE FETCH THE HOLY WATER!

Ross had a funny habit of surprising Trott when he least expects it. Whether it be by buying him the most hilarious and out there Christmas gift he could ever ask for (Pokemon patterned, banana flavoured condoms), to being just outright amazing at giving advice, he always managed to leave a smile on Trott’s face. Ross swore almost as much as he did and truly was the glue that held Hat Films together, with quick wit and quieter humour than the other two members.

Of course, even after years of best-friendship, Trott is hesitant to talk about his love life with Ross. While Smith and Trott joke and relieve tension, Ross was good at holding serious discussion, which was great when Trott needed that, but awful when he was feeling insecure about something. He’d ask for every detail and pore over the situation with flawless logic. Trott didn’t work on logic.

Now, as Trott straddled Smith on the office couch and pressed hot, wet kisses to his throat, he considered telling Ross. Smith and Trott had been sort-of-dating for four months, give or take. Ross had surely noticed the shift in dynamic, subtle as it was, but Trott was hesitant to explain exactly why it had occurred.

Smith rolled his hips beneath his thighs, and Trott looked up with hooded eyes. Smith’s face was flushed and he smirked, flicking out his tongue to lick a nipple. Smith gasped, his large hands tight around Trott’s hips. His lips moved as though he was speaking, but no sound escaped. Trott liked to imagine that he was mouthing “You asshole,” simply because it's such a Smith-thing.

Smith was vocal during sex. He’d toss his head, eyes burning holes in Trott’s skull with the intensity of his glare as he tried and failed to convince Trott that he wasn’t bothered (“That all you got? I could- Ah! Do this in my sleep!” “Really? Then I guess I’ll just-” “No, no, Trott. _Please._ Please Trott. Please.”). Trott thoroughly enjoyed teasing Smith, watching him unravel in his inability to stay confident and firm. Luckily, Smith enjoyed being a cocky little bottom.

Trott moved his hips sharply, revelling in the answering groan Smith gave. He leaned up to kiss Smith, hard and passionate. His tongue moved against Smith’s in a way that was decidedly filthy, and stubble scratched his chin. Trott hummed into Smith’s mouth, reaching a hand down to palm at the hot line in Smith’s unbuttoned jeans. Then there was a distant click and the creak of an opening door.

“So I was thinking that we could- Holy _shit!”_ Trott looked up in realization, silently cursing himself for his stupidity. “Oh my f- Okay, Oh my God, Jesus Christ.”

Trott watched Ross with wide eyes, stunned into silence. Smith had gone stock-still beneath him, waiting with bated breath for Ross’ reaction.

“Uh.. Do I dare ask what the fuck is happening?” Ross questioned, his voice high and his expression sheepish and infinitely surprised.

“Um,” Trott said eloquently, “I- Uh, I mean- Whoops?”

“Whoops?”

“..Sorry?”

“Are you-”

“We’re dating,” Smith said loudly, clearing his throat awkwardly. Seeing Ross had seriously killed his boner, but Trott was still in a bit of an uncomfortable place. He held onto Trott’s hand tight enough to hurt.

“Well.” Ross blinks.

“Yeah,” Trott says.

“So who tops?”

Trott grins roguishly.


	17. "I c-can't breathe-"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott might be a little bit of a nervous laugher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entry has nothing to do with me and I have no idea what nervous laughter is shut up and go away this is not something I have done nope not at all

Trott holds onto Smith’s hand tightly. It’s probably clammy, but Smith doesn’t let go. Trott knows how important this is to Smith, and Smith knows that Trott is bricking it, so with any luck, it would be a nice, short-but-sweet evening. They stand chest to chest in Smith’s bedroom, eyes locked, listening to the quiet hum of chatter downstairs. It’s Christmas day, and Trott is about to meet Smith’s extended family for the first time. Smith is also planning to come out, and Trott thinks that all the worrying he’s doing is going to give him a stroke, at this rate.

Trott has met Smith’s mother, but even she doesn’t know they’re dating (although, Trott thinks, he’s not sure that she’ll be surprised. She has caught him naked or almost naked in her house more than once.). He’s also met Smith’s sister a few times, though thankfully always clothed. The only thing grounding Trott right now is the vice-like grip Smith has on his hand. He’s not sure who, of the two, is more nervous. This means a lot to Smith, but Trott really sucks at this kind of thing.

“They’re going to love you,” Smith says, pressing a kiss into the crown of Trott’s head. Trott smiles weakly.

“Come on, then. There’s no point in waiting around up here all day,” Trott says

“IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR ASS IN HERE NOW, YOU’RE NOT GETTING FED-" Smith's sister screams up the stairs "OW, MUM, DON’T HIT ME! ABUSE!" Smith chuckles.

“You watch your language, you little twerp!” Smith’s mother calls back affectionately.

“Twerp?” Trott asks.

“Pregnant goldfish,” Smith says. This doesn’t really help Trott understand, but he just shakes his head and allows his boyfriend to lead him to the dining table. Or tables, he should say, because with the twenty or so odd family members due to arrive, they’d had to push four separate tables together. They’d even moved the living room furniture closer to the walls, but it still felt a little cramped.

It’s about halfway through the meal that Trott starts to have some trouble. He’s squished between Smith and his sister, who keeps poking him when he tries to reach for the bowl of potato gems, and Smith's family keep saying things that make Trott choke. Trott’s always been a nervous laugher, and Smith’s relatives are not making it easy to contain himself. To be honest, they could be saying anything and Trott would find it funny - he feels like he’s having a mental breakdown, everything is so hilarious - but they aren’t just saying anything. Smith’s aunt Marie keeps saying lots of very funny words very loudly (“This chicken is very _moist,_ Rose. So _moist._ ”), and a balding uncle two seats down is talking about “me-me’s” and Trott thinks he’s about to actually piss himself.

Big surprise, Smith, ever the genius of timing and wit, takes that moment to begin his speech. He clears his throat, and, in the natural way of loud and classically obnoxious people, manages to catch everyone’s attention effortlessly, causing conversation to cease. _Fuck, no._ Trott cannot handle silences.

“Everyone,” Smith starts, and Trott squeaks softly, pressing his hand to his lips in horror. Smith smiles sweetly down at him, confused. He raises an eyebrow, and looks away again, to his mother. “I’ve got something that I’d like to tell you all.”

_Oh my God,_ Trott thinks. He might actually explode. He can’t handle this. It’s so quiet and everybody is looking. He’s going to fucking crack.

“I’ve been looking forward to this day for a while, so I hope that you can keep an open-” Trott lets a simple giggle loose. He squeezes his eyes shut, looking down at his lap, hand pressed even tighter to his lips, and Smith must have realised by now what’s happening. He knows Trott.

“Um,” Smith starts, unsure, “I hope you can keep an open mind, because I’m gay.”

Trott nearly shits himself. He curls in on himself, deep belly laughs and giggles ripped from his lips against his will. It’s so fucking _funny,_ and God, Smith’s family probably thinks he’s insane. Before anyone can squeeze in a word, Smith’s talking over the laughter erupting from Trott.

“And Chris is my boyfriend.”

Trott looks up, tears in his eyes, as Smith puts an arm around his shoulders. He whines, the giggles subsiding, then makes eye contact with Smith’s horrified father and looses it again. He’s laughing so hard that it's silent, rocking back and forth and even clapping a hand to his knee like a fucking idiot.

“I c-can’t breathe-” Trott gasps. “He he he, _hahahaha!_  Oh my fuck!”

“Is he okay..?” Smith’s mother starts.

Smith smiles like the sun down at Trott, who is leaning heavily into his side and is near tears in his hysteria, and says, “He’s perfect.”


	18. "Hey, Princess!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott has had a shitty day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my brother's girlfriend made me a red velvet cake and it's so good I think I might collapse. I'm not even a cake person help
> 
> Bit of a different style today. Enjoy.

Trott has had a shitty day. First of all, he’d forgotten to set his alarm, so he didn’t have time for a shower and had been forced to eat a muesli bar in the car to work, and then when he finally did get in, his editor’s computer had packed up. After an hour or so of banging on the side of it and turning it off and on again, he’d been forced to give mouse control over to a technician with a very nasally voice, who told him that he’d have to get a whole new computer. “Chronic failure,” he’d said. “Half price,” he’d said. What a load of shit.

So here he was, on hold on the phone with yet another tech company, who had instructed him to check the cables and ports at the back of the computer. He’s crawling around under his desk in the middle of the main office, sweating like a pig. Trott doesn’t think he’s ever looked so stupid in his life. Farewell dignity.

Of course, as if sent by fucking Satan himself, Smith walks in. And look, Trott really loves Smith, he does, but he’s in a terrible mood and now really isn’t a good time. Smith must knows this, because he does the most embarrassing thing possible in the situation, short of pulling Trott’s pants down to his ankles.

“Hey, Princess! I brought you a cupcake because you sounded shitty on the phone!” 

Fucking hell, why is this man so pure. Trott really wants to be lovely, but he really is in a terrible mood, so instead, he says, “For fuck’s sake, Smith, you’re so fucking gay.”

The second he says it, he regrets it. He looks down, not wanting to see Smith face crumble, and opens his mouth to speak. Smith, however, gets in first.

“Only for you, honey-bun. Now eat your fucking cupcake ya twat.” Smith beams down at him, and Trott doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he wasn’t teasing. Maybe Smith knows. Either way, he’s just really happy that Smith is happy.

“Yeah, yeah. You know you love me.”

“Always-”

“Always so cliche,” Trott mutters. Smith kisses him on the forehead and Trott decides to hang up the phone. Let someone else deal with this mess, he thinks. The cupcake is fucking divine.


	19. "Vehicular privileges."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trinos requested "Vehicular privileges" from my list of thought bubbles.

“Smiiiith!” Trott’s voice echoed through the flat, overpowering the sound of the TV.

“Whaaaaat?”

“Why is there a speeding ticket in with my mail?!”

Shit. When did that happen?

“When did that happen?” he called. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Oh no. Smith was in trouble. He turned the TV off.

“I don’t know,” Trott said, coming around the corner of the door with a letter in hand, a faux stern-glare pasted onto his face, “Maybe it was last week, when I let you use my car-”

“No!”

“-AFTER HOURS of pathetic bleating- ‘Trott, I swear I’ll be good,’ ‘meh! Trott, I always drive safely.” Trott taunted. “You stupid fuck, Smith. You utter twat!”

“Trott, I swear, I would never speed!” He cried, sitting up. Trott narrowed his eyes.

“Never?”

“Never!” Smith widened his eyes and lifted his brows, earnest.

“So am I supposed to believe that the speeding camera that you drove past- ON THE WAY TO MACDONALDS, mind- fucked up right as your drove past?” Trott asked sarcastically.

“Ye- well,” Smith corrected, “Maybe not right as I passed it, per say, but-”

“You are never driving my car again.”

“No!!” Smith jumped up, reaching out for Trott in panic. “What if I need food and you aren’t home?” Smith caught Trott’s wrists in his large hands, giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Too bad.”

“Trooooooott!”

“No.”

“Trooooooooooooott!!” Trott glared. Smith frowned. “I was only speeding a little bit,” he assured.

“Smith, you could have killed someone.” Trott reached up, Smith still holding onto his wrist, and cupped his cheek. “Or yourself.”

“But I didn’t?” Smith said hopefully.

“Sorry, Smith. I am officially revoking your vehicular privileges,” Trott murmured sadly.

Smith lifted his hand to wipe away a false tear. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Smith, but I already have.” Trott grinned then, “And you are paying this fucker.”


	20. "You're gay."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly dialogue based shit-show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self indulgent interactions of gay-sex-addict-Smith, straight-stable-relationship-Trott, and bi-curious-very-single-Hornby. Dialogue heavy and a total piece of trash. Enjoy.

Ross bursts into the room, grinning widely and leans back on the office door happily. Smith and Trott both perk up, the latter quickly shoving his last gummy snake into his mouth before letting out a wordless yell of excitement.

"How'd the date go?" Smith asks eagerly. He's leaning forward in his chair, holding back any reaction he might have for until he knows whether or not it went well (although, given the cavity-inducing smile Ross is sporting, Smith could take a guess).

"Really well!" Ross gushes. His eyes are bright and his smile is uncontrollable. He's got it bad. Trott makes a quiet whipping sound, and Ross just keeps grinning. Really bad.

"That's great, ma-" Smith starts.

"Did you get laid?" Trott loudly interrupts. Upon realising how loudly he spoke, he flushes and opens his mouth to defend his question, but Ross jumps in.

"No! Of course not, you idiot! I want to get to know her, first," he says, indignant. 

"Yeah?" Trott smirks, "What'd ya learn?"

Ross frowns in confusion. "Well, she loves her family, that's obvious. She was showing me pictures of her little sister-"

"Is she hot?" Smith asks bluntly. If Ross didn't know better, he might have believed that he was serious.

"You're gay."

"So?"

"Oh for-" Ross sighed, "And she's got a couple of brothers, too."

"They hot?" Trott asks, mockingly.

"You're straight," Ross sighs, fighting down a grin. Smith bristles.

"Kick the gay guy while he's down, why don't you?"

"Fuck you Smith,” Trott laughs.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"You're the one who'd like it, you creep."

"Are you saying that all gay men are creeps, Crisp?" Smith taunts.

"No, I'm saying that you're a creep, Smit." Trott gives Smith the finger and Ross laughs. Smith rolls his eyes.

"Since when have I been a creep? I've seen you shower and have only once popped a boner."

"Only once?” Trott asks sarcastically.

"Hey! It's natural!"

Trott makes a sound of disbelief.

"Excuse you, I remember you telling me that - very loudly, I might add,” Smith says, “for days- DAYS afterwards."

"Days after you popped a boner watching your best mate shower,” Ross adds.

"Ex-best-mate,” Smith claims, crossing his arms.

"Fine." Says Trott.

"Fine." Says Smith.


	21. "Nobody could measure up to you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watery introspection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is heart achingly introspective. Run far away while you can.

There was something about seeing Ross in his shower that made Trott smile. The night previous had been a change long in the works. An experience like no other. Where it had been rough kisses and firm grasps, the morning after was hesitant affection and the soft trailing of a hand down a chest. That was okay. They had time. So much time. The bathroom was filled with steam and was too white, too bright, but Ross was in it, his long legs and broad back facing Trott, and the pounding in Trott’s head was better than bearable because of it.

He pulled open the shower door, wrapping an arm around Ross’ solid torso as he went. Ross shuddered at his touch, and reached back clumsily to help him close the door again. He was burning hot against Trott’s cool, dry skin, but it was nice. He had more waist and less hip than any girl Trott had been with, and he couldn’t help but revel in the hairiness of his thighs, the subtle hint of __man__  dripping from every inch of his body.

Trott’s shampoo had a sharp but pleasant lemon-y scent, and Ross fell to his knees to let Trott apply it. He rocked back on his heels and leant his head back into Trott’s stomach, and Trott watched his eyes move beneath their lids as he worked up a gentle lather in his hair. He tried not to think about how much this casual intimacy implied, suggested, made him want.

And Trott had always been one for these snippets - these small moments in time where everything was right and words were unnecessary, because all that mattered was Here, and Now, not Before, and not Later, and certainly not What-If. They were careful, and new, but they were still Trott and Ross, still the same two boys who watched Breaking Bad late at night with popcorn between them and in their hair and teeth and who were as familiar with each other’s hands as they were with their own. Now wasn’t the time for words or for explanations, but the time for comfort and softness. A silent understanding.

Ross washed his pubes. Trott snorted out a laugh when he saw, but it was so __Ross.__  Ross was soft and clean everywhere else, why wouldn’t he shampoo and condition his pubes with the same care as the hair on his head? It was new, but it was __Ross,__  and somehow that made everything okay. Trott ended up copying him. He was much less coordinated, and his pubes certainly weren’t the soft straight hairs of Ross, but it didn’t seem to matter. Ross still smiled privately when he saw, and Trott was irrationally proud that he’d made that curve appear on his lips.

Finding out about every inch of Ross’ body was the most important thing Trott could remember doing in a very long time. Where was he ticklish, and what were those dimples, and fuck, he was perfect. He was so fucking perfect. How was it possible to be so effortlessly beautiful? Trott had wanted this for so long, had wanted an excuse to remember every dip and curve and learn and just be allowed to care, and it hurt his heart being as happy as he was. Nothing had ever been worth as much as this.

“Nobody could measure up to you,” Trott murmured, lips pressed gently to Ross’ chest. His ears were full of water, the world muffled, and he liked to think that he could hear his heart thumping strong and even in time with the pounding he could feel in Ross’ collarbones.

“Hmm?”

Trott shook his head, and smiled. “Don’t worry.”


	22. “You okay?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross’ first panic attack with the boys. OT3 love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling a bit angst about not updating this and then exam stress kicked in and I figured, hey, why not write a scene where Ross has a panic attack of overwhelm, like I get sometimes? I’ve been dying for some OT3 lately, so I also included that (have I done that in one of these before? Hmm.)  
> Anyway, enjoy.
> 
> *Inspired by the Sleeping At Last performance of “You’re Enough”

Sometimes, the pressure became a lot for Ross. There were so many things to do, and they hung over his head like dark foreboding clouds, a storm brewing, ready to crack down at any time. He always knew it was coming, but never when it would hit. His hands would shake, and his eyes would blur, and suddenly it was like he couldn’t focus on anything at all.

The first time Ross had a panic attack in front of Smith and Trott, it was just an ordinary day. They were in the office, each at their own desk. The wall behind Ross was blue, deep blue with black spray paint décor, and his desk was a mess of protein bars, chords and wires, and post-it notes. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of electricity and the sharp sound of Smith chewing on ice.

Like a water trickling through a dam, Ross’ head grew slowly louder with thoughts and feelings. His heart starting beating faster, and the cursor on the screen blinked with foreboding. He blinked hard, shaking the mouse on the screen, trying to focus his eyes on the email he was writing, trying to distract his mind from worry, but it didn’t help.

Fuck! Why couldn’t he focus? Ross’ breathing was growing short, and with a start, he realised that there were tears of overwhelm and frustration building behind his eyes. Ross stood up suddenly, the chair underneath him skittering away loudly. His knuckles were white, clenched around something in his right hand.

“Ross?” Trott said, but it sounded like Ross was underwater, or stuck beneath the surface of a frozen lake. Like the world above was muffled and distant, out of reach.

Ross swayed on his feet a little, his head light and airy, his breathing short. He strode across the room- were his steps always this long, this awkward and wrong, wrong, wrong? – and pulled open the door to the hall, finding the bathroom with muted relief. His hands were tingling, like pins and needles without the pain.

Ross found his eyes in the mirror, stared hard at his reflection. His heart was still pounding in his throat, and Ross liked to imagine that he could see it in his neck, the thick strong vein that ran up the inside of his throat. His eyes were dark in the mirror, completely dilated, and Ross found himself studying his chapped lips, the tracks on his cheeks – tears, like snail trails down his face.

Then came a loud knocking on the bathroom door (a soft hissed “Smith!”).

“Ross?” Smith asked, making Ross’ chest tighten. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? He couldn’t answer anyway, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and the long curve of his jaw clenched hard- “Are you okay?”

Ross’ took a deep breath then, as he watched the door handle turn in the mirror. It should have made him panic, the thought of his boys seeing him like this, but somehow all it did was make Ross’ thoughts a little clearer, his eyes sharper.

The door opened slowly, and Smith’s worried face came into view, Trott close behind, hovering. Ross stuffed his hand under his nose and pulled up his shoulders, but it was too late, Trott had already sucked in a breath and started forward. Ross held up his hand, turning away a little. A funny little hum left his lips urgently, something like “no,” or “don’t,” but not quite either.

“Ross..” Trott murmured, from somewhere between Ross and the door, “What’s wrong? How can I help?”

And, well, Ross didn’t know how to answer that honestly, so he just clenched his fist around the object in his right hand again, and shook his slowly clearing head. 

“You need to tell me what’s happening, sunshine.” Trott’s voice was velvety soft, low and deep and grounding, and Ross couldn’t help but muffle a sob at how calming it was. 

Trott tutted sadly and rushed forward, pulling Ross into a tight hug. He was shorter than Ross, but he stood on tiptoes so he could put his chin on his shoulder delicately. Ross started sobbing in earnest then, burying his face in the crook of Trott’s neck and inhaling his sharp cologne scent. Trott’s arms grew bruisingly tight around Ross’ waist.

He came down from his panicked high slowly, his heart thumping hard but gradually slower, and his hands shaking a little less. His head hurt, but felt clearer with each passing minute. Lastly, his breathing slowed and became more even, and his tears faded. Trott was rubbing firm circles between his shoulders, and Ross had never felt so safe as he did when he heard what Trott had been whispering in his ear this whole time.

“You’re enough. You’re enough, you’re enough.”

And then Smith, comforting from a distance in the only way he knew how. “You’re lucky Trott was around mate, I don’t think I could have given you a cuddle anywhere near that good.”

It wasn’t until later that Ross realised that the whole time, the object his right hand, turning over and over in his iron grip had been the love stone that Trott and Smith had bought him in Japan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! I should be updating this more regularly now I’ve gotten used to using my iPad over a keyboard. :)  
> (Did you catch my XCOM reference, @antineutrinos?)

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? TRASH?!


End file.
